


No one really knows

by Moriartysappletree



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Funny, Gen, Humor, friend, school teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartysappletree/pseuds/Moriartysappletree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock goes on his most difficult mission yet. Teaching primary school kids. Mycroft tries to make a friend, however his socializing skills aren't as good as he originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No one really knows

John Watson didn't know what to expect when he entered 221b. Mrs Hudson had only shook her head and said that they were having a most awful fight. That must of meant that Sherlock’s brother Mycroft was here. John cautiously opened up the door “why must you be like this just because I’m smarter than you!?” Mycroft spat “That is not true!” Sherlock remarked. “You know it is!” the older brother replied. “Well at least I have friends!!” Sherlock shot back. That made him quite, “friends..Friends are unnecessary.” He mumbled then side glanced at John. Sherlock saw him “Ah John maybe you can settle who’s the better holmes.” Mycroft rolled his eyes “Oh please what would he know.” He mumbled. “No offence.” He added. John shook his head “Wha-What is this about?” he asked irritably. “We are trying to figure out who is the superior one.” Sherlock told him. “Look why don’t you two just forget about this argument and I’ll make some tea and-" “That’s a brilliant idea!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Oh really? Yes I think so.” “Yes, setting a challenge for one another will definitely prove which of us is the far superior one!”  
“Sherlock, I never said that- No don’t-  
“Ah yes, by the end of the day you will finally stop this silly bickering with me because I would have won. “Mycroft stated straightening his tie. “Sherlock.” He continued, “there is an open position at the primary school for a teacher as the current one is sick or some nonsense like that. Would you be so kind brother to take over?” he grinned. “Fine.” Sherlock mumbled ignoring John’s face of confusion. “But my challenge for you is..To make a friend.” A wave of uncertainty washed over the older brother’s face but he soon composed it and said calmly, “please, could you give me something at least a bit challenging.” Sherlock opened the door and was about to step out before turning towards Mycroft and saying, “oh but it is challenging.”

Sherlock strode down the dusty school corridors and pushed open the door to what he expected to be one of the biggest waste of times he will ever encounter, forgetting that he stepped into the classroom full of ten year olds. Surveying the class he walked in and placed his leather suitcase next to his desk. “As you can obviously see your teacher is absent so I will be taking over for today. My name is Mr. Holmes, and now- “Aren’t you going to write your name on the board?” Interrupted a small chubby boy.  
“No. Why would I do that?”  
The boy shrugged. “Well I-I don’t know, in case we forget your name or something.”  
“Can you really not remember something I said two seconds ago? If that’s the case then I don’t reckon you should be in this class.” Sherlock spoke before he thought and taking in the boy’s devastated face, he sighed in defeat and turned towards the blackboard to write ‘Mr. Holmes’ with a piece of crumpled chalk. Sherlock spun around abruptly and took the role from the teacher’s desk, clearing his throat he stated, “alright time to take the role. Ross?”  
“Here.”  
“Melanie?”  
“Present.”  
“Bruce?”  
“Yeah I’m here.” The chubby boy who had spoken before said reluctantly.  
“Gavin?”  
“It’s Greg!”  
“Whatever.” Sherlock grumbled. 

Sherlock picked up the sheet of paper with instructions from their teacher. “Alright then it looks like you will be learning..” He squinted at the scribbled handwriting, “art.” He mumbled. “It says here that you have to draw the person sitting next to you.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “How original.”At once the children took out their notebooks, chatting excitedly as they flipped it to a fresh page and began to draw. Just then the class door swung open revealing a woman dressed in a light pink top tucked neatly into a flower pattern skirt. “Hello students!” She said brightly then turned to Sherlock, “hi there I’m Ms Yellowfeather. I don’t know if Mr. Locke told you about me but I’m basically a helper teacher I can-”  
“You are not needed.” Sherlock told her dismissively.  
“Oh no it’s quite alright; it’s no trouble if that’s what you think.” She explained.  
Sherlock glared at the woman and said, “Well I don’t want you here.”  
Ms Yellowfeather folded her arms. “It doesn't matter what you want Mr..” She paused to look at the board.”Mr Holmes..You see Mr. Locke said clear that I must be here, so here I am.” She said stubbornly. “Fine then.” Sherlock grumbled.  
Ms Yellowfeather strolled around the room to look at the student’s work. “Oh that drawing is absolutely wonderful Jimmy!” She told a boy with ginger hair. “No it isn't.” Sherlock said, glancing down at the paper. “The ears are not evenly positioned, the gap between the teeth is highly exaggerated, you have drawn his head circular instead of oval, and how on earth would you think green be an acceptable skin colour? And most importantly, the eyebrows are completely off.” Sherlock explained. He smiled to himself, he reckon that he seemed to be pretty good at this teaching thing. “My word!” Cried Ms Yellowflower, “that is a very unacceptable way to give out constructive criticism Mr. Holmes. You should say sorry to the boy.”  
Sherlock scoffed, “what for?” He looked down at Jimmy who had looked like he just got punched in the face. Sherlock sighed, “my apologies, Jimmy.” He told him. Ms Yellowfeather approached another student and examined their work, nodding in encouragement. “My, my, what fantastic detail you drew Cassie!” The little girl beamed from the helper teacher’s comment. Sherlock stepped forward and said, “this is not detailed, you have forgotten the mole on the left side of the girl’s face, you've missed out the crinkles in the shirt from not being ironed for a while, you have made the eyelashes abnormally long, when the girl’s eyelashes are in reality not very noticeable at all, and you haven’t drawn all of unnecessary butterfly clips in her hair, which she actually doesn't need at all, only wears it for show apparently. And so I wouldn’t say this was detailed, but in fact quite plain.”  
Ms Yellowfeather glared at Sherlock so much that it seemed that her eyes pierced him. He sighed again and said, “sorry Cassie.”  
After art had finished it was time for history. Sherlock picked up the large heavy book that he was meant to read titled ‘The History Of London.’ He turned to the chapter the class had said the were up to and began reading. “According to the legendary Historia Regum Britanniae, of Geoffrey of Monmouth, London was founded by Brutus of Troy after he defeated the incumbent giants Gog and Magog and-Blah Blah Blah.” Sherlock snapped the book shut. “Boring.” He stated. “I have something much more interesting we can do instead.” He reached for his leather suitcase and took a plastic casing out with the contents of a rotten hand. Ms Yellowfeather gasped in horror, some students cringed in disgust others nudged their friends in excitement. “Deductions.” Sherlock announced proudly. “Now, can anybody deduct how this man died and why he’s hand is in such a condition.” The class didn’t say a word. “Come now it’s not rocket science! Who has some theories?” A small girl from the back cautiously put her hand up. “Yes!?” Sherlock asked.  
“Um maybe the guy was shot by another person.” She said timidly.  
“Maybe.” He nodded, “but that doesn’t explain the hand.”  
Bruce waved his arm in the air, “I think that he could of fallen over and that’s why it left a big bruise on his hand.” “Yes. But that is no bruise.” Sherlock told him.  
At once more and more people got involved in the discussion, while their deduction skills weren’t the best, some ideas could well sound probable.Cassie raised her hand, “It could have been poison.” She said. Sherlock clicked his fingers, “correct! Now you’re paying attention to detail!” He lifted up the plastic bag, “this such condition here is from some very deadly poison. Uncommon around here. Probably illegally brought over somewhere else in order for an assassination. Must have been slipped into his food at a restaurant, obviously the assinator had to be undercover as this man was notorious for having many security guards guarding him like a hawke.It was a slow process. Unexpected until sometime after he left, by that time the poison would of made its way through he’s body before killing him.” The children watched Sherlock with great interest as he explained this. “Now, I have some more body parts that-”  
“That’s enough!” Bellowed Ms Yellowfeather fuming very angrily. “You need to leave right now.” She told him.  
He scratched the back of his head, “But I-”  
“OUT!” Ms Yellowfeather yelled.  
And with that Sherlock scattered out the door. 

Stepping out onto the streets of London Mycroft looked around at potential friends. To Mycroft all people who didn’t meet at least close to his IQ were idiots, goldfish, a herd of sheep following one another. But he had to forget about all of that, at least for today. He focused his attention on a young lady wearing a bright red dress and a blonde bob of hair and a man with a scruffy beard and a long coat. The woman was twenty six years old, a waiter at a café by the multiple coffee stains on her clothes, she had two cats judging by the cat scratches on her right leg, and had trust issues. The man standing next to her was twenty eight years old, he could tell that he worked at tech support by his terrible posture and the way he squinted at her like he was looking at a computer screen, he liked gardening judging by the subtle cuts that littered his hand from a somewhat prickly plant and the dirt beneath his nails, and he also had a very noticeable nervous shuffle. From the looks of it they were related and the man didn’t really want to be talking to the yapping lady, he looked constantly down at his watch and nodded every now and again. Mycroft didn’t have a desire to converse with any of them and so he moved on.  
Mycroft spend a while wandering the street until he figured that he should talk to them before he deduct, whilst it was helpful in a way, it was certainly not improving his chances. He approached a young man with floppy hair and a dark hoodie, he was leaning against the wall doing nothing in particular. Mycroft thought that perhaps this young man was lonely, “hello there” he said politely. There was no response. He cleared his throat and tried again “hello.” Still nothing. Except this time the man spared him a glance then looked back to the distance. “I uh like your floppy hair.” He commented. The man took out a pair of headphones from his ears and looked completely and utterly annoyed at Mycroft. “It’s called a fringe.” He corrected. “And never bother me again when I’m listening to music.” He told him sourly before turning to walk away. This was going to be much harder than he thought.

 

Mycroft dialled John’s number and tapped impatiently as he waited for him to pick up. “Mycroft?”  
“John, are you busy?”  
“Not really.” John mumbled.  
“Good. I need you to tell me how to make friends.”  
“I-err I don’t think I’m the right person for you to be asking. I mean my best friend is a highly functional sociopath and my wife.. Well you know the story.” He trailed off. “Quite. All I need is the basics. Nothing trivia of sorts just for me to be able to converse with people.”  
“Hmm.. I guess finding common ground is start. Here let’s practise, so what’s your favourite movie?” 

“I don’t have times for such things.” Mycroft told him.  
“Yeah-No. Look you know what, just try to be friendly, okay?”  
“I suppose.” He grumbled. “Thank you anyway John.” He said before hanging up and heading towards the nearest grocery store.

Assessing the scene, Mycroft reckoned that it would be pretty easy to find a friend. Find common ground, he reminded himself. He eventually decided to approach a young woman examining the contents of a yogurt packet. Mycroft forced a smile and said “oh yogurt! I like that too. Very good for your health, I suggest the low fat one, I’m going on a diet myself.” He told her patting his stomach as the woman watched him with a blank expression. Just then a very tall and muscular man confronted him, he had dark tattoos running down both of his arms with a very furious look on his face. “Did you call my girlfriend fat!?” he barked stepping closer. “I-Well-No look this has been a misunderstanding I’ll just go.” Mycroft stuttered.  
“You’re not going anywhere little man!” The man growled viciously.  
The last thing Mycroft remembered was a large fist flying fast his way.  
Mycroft’s head spun, everything felt like a blur. He could just make out a small group of people standing around him. “Is he okay?” One asked.  
“What a nasty bruise.” Another stated.  
“Should we call the ambulance?” Someone murmured.  
“Nice shoes.” Another added quietly.  
Mycroft slowly sat up rubbing his head. Nobody told him that making friends would be so..Painful. He frowned at the people who had gathered to have a chat about his misfortune. “Oh he’s awake.” A small old lady commented. Mycroft waved his hand dismissively “Never mind me, I’m fine. Off you go now.” The crowd whispered incoherently before going their separate ways.

It was hopeless. He was going to lose. Sherlock would have his horrible laugh of victory and Mycroft would feel pathetic. The man with no friends. Mycroft slumped onto a wooden bench in the emptiest park he could find. The sun would be setting soon and then the day would be over. All of a sudden a small cherry red ball bounced towards him out of seemingly nowhere. He leaned from where he was sitting to pick it up. How very strange, he thought. Just then a little girl with caramel colour hair in pigtails bounded in front of him, looking around desperately. “Where did it go?” She asked no one in particular. Realisation struck Mycroft “Is this yours?” He asked gesturing towards the ball. She nodded and he handed it to her carefully. “Thanks mister” she said, but instead of leaving she stayed there staring at Mycroft, it almost unnerved him. After a while of silence she asked, “can I sit with you?” He raised an eyebrow but nodded anyway. She struggled onto the bench and her feet dangled far from the ground when she finally sat. “Why you wearing a suit?” she questioned. “Are you a going to a fancy restaurant?”  
“Hardly.” He scoffed.  
“Well then why are you wearing it then?”  
“Why are you asking so many questions little girl?” he grumbled.  
“Why are you not answering my questions?”  
“Touché.” Mycroft smirked.. “  
And just so you know, I’m not a little girl.”She frowned.  
“No? Then how old are you?”  
“Eight..And a half.” The girl grinned triumphantly. “Also, my name’s Lucy, what’s yours?”  
“Mycroft.” He told her.  
“That’s a weird name.. But I like it!” Lucy smiled. “Do people call you Mike?”  
“Unfortunately.”  
“That’s a shame.. Hey, what are you doing sitting here by yourself? Why don’t you hang out with your friends?’” “I could ask you the same question.”  
“Oh.” Lucy’s face went glum and she looked down at lap. “Well I don’t have any .. I’m not very good at making friends. All the kids think I’m strange.” She sighed. Lucy then noticed something, “how’d you get that bruise on your head?”  
Mycroft chuckled, “I guess you could say I’m not good at making friends either.”  
“The thing is.” Lucy began. “No one really knows.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“You can’t look at a person and decide that they can be your friend by the way they look.”  
“ I suppose that is not completely untrue.” Mycroft commented, thinking about his deduction skills.  
“I mean, you might know that they are sporty by the clothes they wear, but you don’t actually know what their feelings are like and basically how they view the world.” She explained.  
“I must admit, you are quite wise for your age.” He told her genuinely impressed. Mycroft considered what Lucy had told him. Sure his deduction skills were brilliant but even that had limitations. From his deduction of Lucy, she lived with her aunt, had a pet mouse and enjoyed origami. However, Mycroft wasn't a mind reader and Lucy’s face was close to unreadable. For a while they chatted comfortably about many things. Eventually when it started getting too dark, her mother called and so she slid off the bench and stared up at Mycroft. “Thanks for talking with me.” She told him brightly. He nodded but then noticed the rubber ball beside him on the bench, “don’t forget your ball,” Mycroft reminded her. “Keep it.” Lucy said. Before she went to turn on her heel she told him, “you know, you’re a good friend.” And with that she was gone.  
Returning back to the apartment Sherlock and Mycroft walked up right in front of each other. “So how did you go at your first day of school, brother?” He questioned. “Fine.” Sherlock murmured.  
“I see. Is that why you got thrown out?” Mycroft grinned.  
“Hmm, well did you even make any friends?” He asked.  
“Indeed, I met a very bright young lady with some very intellectual insights.”  
“It was a little girl, wasn't it?” Sherlock chuckled.  
“Perhaps.”  
“Well then let’s go tell John and we can finally have a winner.”  
“So let me get this straight.” John began. “You got kicked out of school for bringing dead body parts to class.” “It was for some simple deductions.” Sherlock explained.  
“And you made friends with an eight year old?”  
“Eight and a half.” Mycroft corrected.  
John rubbed a hand on his face tiredly, “well then I guess it’s a draw I suppose.” he told them sitting back in his chair. 

 

“A DRAW!?” They both gasped in unison.  
They stormed off angrily, “unbelievable.” Sherlock growled. “ridiculous.” Mycroft muttered.  
John shook his head. How oh how did he get caught up in the holmes brother’s misadventures.  
The End.


End file.
